


Coming Home

by Sylthfarn



Category: Tales of Symphonia, Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of the New World
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Pre-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylthfarn/pseuds/Sylthfarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aster's mother always enjoyed the letters she would receive from her son while he was away at Sybak Academy. He promised to visit after going with Richter to meet Ratatosk, and it was something she was looking forward to. He said he'd be bringing Richter this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

She sat at the kitchen table, drinking her tea and staring down at the letters. They were all from her son. She was very proud of him although she had barely gotten the chance to see him for the past seven years. He had left for the academy when he was nine, and though he visited as often as he could, it wasn’t very much. She understood that he was busy, but she took pictures of him whenever he was home. 

She loved to see how much he had grown over the years, and she smiled as she flipped through the years as told through photographs and letters from the academy. He wrote every week, or more often if he could manage it. She wondered if today would be the day he finally came home. He told her about his lab partner (and possible partner in other ways), who was a half-elf named Richter. She hoped that this time he’d be able to bring Richter to visit as well. He promised they would visit soon, after meeting with the summon spirit called Ratatosk.

She had to admit she didn’t know very much about his research, she thought as she drank her tea. However little she understood, it still made her smile to see his face light up when he talked about it. She was pulled from reminiscing when she heard a knock on the door. Abandoning her tea and the letters she moved quickly to answer it, hoping it was her son.

Opening the door, she saw a young man with long red hair standing awkwardly on the doorstep. His green eyes avoided looking directly at her, and she recognized the glasses as the ones her son had asked her for.

“You must be Richter,” she said with a smile. “My son has told me so much about you.”

“Mrs. Laker….” said Richter hesitantly. 

“Please, come in,” she said with a smile, pulling him inside. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for so long! Aster is very fond of you, he’s made that very clear.”

“I…came here…to tell you something,” said Richter, his voice cracking slightly. 

She turned away from the teapot to look at him. He looked upset about something, so she had to assume it wasn’t good news. She retained hope that maybe it wasn’t too serious. Aster could be clumsy sometimes. He probably got hurt doing something for someone else.

Her heart fell to somewhere around her knees when she saw what Richter pulled out of his pocket and handed to her. It was an amulet. One she recognized and knew that “Courage is the magic that turns dreams into reality” was written on the back. She had given it to Aster before he had left for the academy.

“Aster…Aster is….dead,” Richter managed to say. Tears were running freely down his face, but he seemed to ignore them. 

Moving forward, it felt almost like a dream. She stared at the amulet, and saw the tears splash upon it. She gently took it from Richter’s hand and cradled it close to her heart. 

“It’s my fault,” Richter said, his voice choked with tears. “If he hadn’t met me–This never would have happened… He-he pushed me out of the way–”

She put the amulet in her pocket and pulled Richter close, wrapping her arms around him and stroking his hair like he was a small child. 

“Shhh…it’s okay,” she whispered in his ear as she stroked his hair. “Aster was very happy he met you. And I’m happy too.”

She felt Richter hug her tightly, clinging to her like she was his own mother as he cried into her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”

“He died as he lived,” she said, gently rocking him back and forth. “Helping someone he loved.”

She knew her son would never write her another letter. She knew that there would be no more pictures of him. She would never see his smile again. But at least, she thought, my son has come home.


End file.
